


The Gift

by aperture_living



Category: Naruto
Genre: Blood, Brothers, Drama, Gen, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-10
Updated: 2013-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 13:53:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/837628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aperture_living/pseuds/aperture_living
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The inside of his ANBU mask was layered in sweat, blood, and exhaustion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Gift

**Author's Note:**

> A day late, but for Itachi's birthday.

The inside of his ANBU mask was layered in sweat, blood, and exhaustion; it was to the point where removing it seemed almost intimidating, daunting, even for him. He was afraid to see what sort of damage lay underneath, could feel the red slipping out and dripping into the sink he leaned precariously over, so dark and vibrant against the white porcelain. Every drop of sweat stung with grueling fingers as it slipped into open wounds, making him grit his teeth, making it burn with a pain he was unfamiliar with. Was the rest worse? Did it matter? Not knowing the extent didn’t mean it went away, stopped existing. Ignorance was not bliss, but a curse.

The mission had been a success, at least. That was what was important, not the two agents that had been lost on the way back, not his own near death, not the blood that was splashed up around his neck, some his own, some belonging to someone else. He would have to clean his blade tonight, clean it well lest it corrode.

But the scroll had been important. Vital. Had been worth more than blood, and as a tool, he would do what was needed for the betterment of his village. That was the cross of the loyal, the truth of the underground, and he couldn’t shake it even if he wanted to. He knew as much. What was born in blood, died in blood. 

The mask was pulled off with ginger delicacy, and he hissed through his teeth as it shifted against newborn scabs, breaking them anew and sending more blood down. His eyes were still as red as the stains in the basin, staring back at him through the mirror, unrecognizably familiar. In a few hours, he would be debriefed, when everyone else would be sure to have returned and his wounds would be tended to and--

He heard the footsteps coming down the hall, light and airy, hurried and slightly awkward with childish coordination. They were trying to be quiet, running but delicate, unsure but hopeful, as if trying to sneak up on a bird that may or may not be around the bend. Sasuke always moved like that when he thought Itachi was home, and it almost brought a smile to his lips.

Almost.

The mask was shoved back on, the pain exquisite, and the water ran to flush the blood down the sink before the bathroom door could be tugged open. Dark eyes stared up at him from their place closer to the floor, wide and curious and ever so happy. It was the only way he ever seemed to be on the days when Itachi returned, before he eventually grew frustrated with routinely being left behind. But that was later and this was now, and Sasuke seemed...happy.

“I knew you were back!” and it was small and proud and too loud; their parents would hear and Itachi didn’t want their questioning looks yet. “I always know when you’re back.”

The length of the bathroom was crossed in four little steps and then he was hugging those black legs, tiny arms wrapped around them, and Itachi prayed that the blood there was already dry and his innocent brother wouldn’t carry the essence of a dead man on his hands.

“Mm, you are good, but it _is_ a brother’s duty to know when his family is home and safe.” Sasuke’s hair was soft under his hand; he wished he could feel it through the glove, but memory served him well. Memory would serve him well later, years from now when he sat on the road with his water-inspired partner, silently recalling things he wouldn’t talk about it. 

The younger Uchiha nodded, cheeks puffed as if this was all old news, things he had known for years, a wisdom that was as common as the color of the sky. “Did you bring me anything?”

_Death_ was hardly an appropriate answer, so Itachi shook his head, closing his eyes. “Perhaps next time, little brother.”

Itachi was impressed that Sasuke never pouted, never even so much as frowned when the answer was no to this familiar question; perhaps he understood that the greatest gift was simply to have his brother home. Or maybe he was too young to understand what it meant, or wise enough to know read between the lines. Or maybe, just maybe, the physical objects were nothing compared to the hope that they would find time to train together (and to that inevitable answer, he did pout). Either way, Itachi thought the conversation was over, and he leaned against the sink to finish cleaning, waiting for his sibling to leave.

He didn’t.

“Why are you still wearing your mask if you’re home?” Sasuke asked, reaching up for it with small fingers. 

So, perhaps he had a gift for him after all. Dropping to one knee, he looked through the battle-worn confines, watching him, watching his innocence and wanting to hold it for a little longer. Just...just a little while longer. 

“Because underneath is the face is a true ninja,” he muttered, blood seeping out from beneath the edges and dropping to the floor. “And when you are ready to see it, I will show you.”

 

 

Itachi kept true to his word, when years later, he lay dying at Sasuke’s feet, blood soaking deep into the dry ground.


End file.
